Dark Wings
by Faded Nights
Summary: Discontinued
1. Garden Mysteries

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. He, and all of the characters mentioned in the book series of the same title, belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

**Warning: **Half-Blood Prince spoilers.

**Summary:** As the Dark Lord once again rises to power, Harry Potter finds himself facing situations only found in his nightmares. The path of darkness is followed by those who have nothing to lose, but has Harry really reached that point?  
_Does not feature Horcrux storyline!

* * *

_

**Dark Wings**

_Chapter One – Garden Mysteries_

Harry Potter's eyes narrowed as he stared at the calendar tacked to the wall. July 29. Two days until he could take his Apparation test. Two days until he could use magic outside of Hogwarts. Two days until he could leave the Dursley's hellhole of a house forever.

He groaned and threw himself onto his bed, next to a large book of advanced defensive magic spells. He hadn't heard much word from anyone all summer, not that he'd had any high expectations. He was surprised that the _Prophet_ hadn't started calling him 'The-Boy-Who-Was-Ignored.' But then, the _Prophet_ hadn't printed much about him all summer, for which he was relieved.

He rose again from his bed with a sigh and crossed the room to try the door. The doorknob turned, but the door wouldn't open, which meant that the Dursleys had gone out. They'd again taken to locking him in his room, though they did usually leave it unlocked when they were home. Not that Harry spent any time with his relatives when he didn't have to. And he really didn't mind the time spent in his room, except in times like this one, when hunger had become an issue.

He crossed the small bedroom to Hedwig's cage and opened the door to stroke the snowy owl's head gently. The owl blinked her eyes open blearily and stared at him. He chuckled, and murmured, "Go back to sleep," in a soft voice. The owl hooted, sounding almost worried as she closed her eyes again and slowly returned to sleep.

Harry returned to his bed and lay down, dropping the defensive magic book to the ground without care to the noise it made. No one was around to yell at him, and he wouldn't have really card if there had been.

Moments later, he'd drifted to sleep. At least, he thought he must have, because he wasn't aware of his Uncle Vernon's return to the house, nor of her entry into Harry's room until the man's screaming of his name woke him up.

"Potter!" Harry groaned as the voice rattled through his skull, and winced as he was hit in the stomach by the book he had earlier tossed to the floor. He creaked his eyes open, aware that the large man was standing over him, an extremely angry expression on his slowly purpling face.

"What?" Harry asked groggily. Didn't his uncle realise it was rude to wake someone up when they were obviously sound asleep? Apparently not, and Harry's confused and tired expression seemed to anger the man more, though the only showing of it was an increase in his scowl.

"Don't you 'what' me. What the hell did you do to our garden?" he asked angrily. Harry blinked blankly at him. Garden? Vernon had woken him up because something had happened to the garden? He'd been locked in his room the entire time, how the hell could he have harmed the garden? But Vernon wouldn't believe that it hadn't been Harry – the man was an idiot.

"What're you talking about?" he asked blandly, moving to the side and standing. He made his way to the open bedroom door and pushed past his cousin, who had gathered there to see his father beat up on Harry. Large and lacking in neck, Dudley Dursley shied back as he passed.

Harry sprinted down the hallway and leapt down the stairs, ignoring his aunt's protesting exclamation and his uncle's shouts as he threw open the front door of the house and stepped outside.

What met his eyes both surprised and terrified him. The garden was in ruins. The neat flower beds had been trampled, the hedges looked as if they'd been burnt, and there were overturned garden ornaments and shattered planters all over the once grassy, now muddy, front lawn.

Harry spun to face his relatives, "You think _I_ did this?" he exclaimed. He glowered at Vernon as the man nodded, a look on his face that said it was entirely the fault of Harry, and that he wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. An argument that spanned the next quarter of an hour resulted in Harry cleaning up the yard.

He frowned at the shards of a planter as he picked up the pieces. There were definitely large sections missing, but where had they gone? He figured that whoever had done this was probably responsible for stealing the missing pieces as 'souvenirs', but it was hard to tell for sure. And _who_ could have done this? He supposed that it could have easily been Dudley and his gang – after all, Harry wasn't sure that Dudley had gone out with his parents. Yes, it could easily have been them – what better way to get Harry in trouble?

Still, something told Harry that Dudley _hadn't_ been the one to do this. Not that _his_ intuition mattered. If his uncle thought that Harry had done something, than Harry had done it, no matter whom it had actually been. It was quite annoying, but something that he'd be rid of in two days time. If only those days would go quickly.

Night had fallen before the front of the house looked anything nearing respectable. The hedges had had to be all but removed, the lawn made to look somewhat healthy, and many of the flowers uprooted from the garden. Harry groaned as he heaved a bag of garbage – mainly broken things – into a corner of the garage and then entered the house.

He returned the glare Petunia gave him as he trudged up the stairs to bathe. Let the woman glare. It was her bloody husband's fault that Harry was covered in muck in the first place.

His scar burned as he shed his clothing in the otherwise spotless bathroom, and he glanced in the mirror, almost expecting it to be brighter than it normally was. There was no difference though, however inflamed it felt. He scrubbed a hand across it, wondering with more curiosity than he should have had about what Lord Voldemort was planning. Sometimes, it frustrated him that Voldemort was using occlumency against him. True, the nightmares had terrified him, but he'd also been far more informed of the Dark Lord's movements when he'd been having them.

It was a lose-lose situation, he mused as he stepped into the shower and allowed already running water to flow over him. The hot water scorched across his skin in a manner that was almost calming, relaxing muscles that had tensed up, and soothing others that were sore from working in the garden. Who had done it?

He was no closer to figuring it out twenty minutes later when he was standing back in his room. He signed and shook his head. There was no reason to worry about it. It had probably just been someone with a grudge against the Dursleys. Well, Dudley anyway. He figured that a lot of people had to have a grudge against Dudley.

Harry shook his head to rid his hair of excess water and slipped a shirt over his head. It had once belonged to Dudley, but then, most of the clothes he wore while at the Dursley's did. Most of the time it was far too warm to wear any of Mrs Weasley's jumpers, and he didn't really own any other muggle clothes.

He pulled on a baggy pair of pants and left the room at the sound of his uncle hollering his name. He entered the kitchen – spotless, as usual – and sat at the place at the table that was designated to him. As was usual, it had the least amount of food set before it. Two days, he reminded himself sternly, bolting down the meal and rising to clear his plate and leave the kitchen. A pointed glare from his uncle made him sit back down.

"What?" he asked disgruntled. Both Vernon and Petunia's eyebrows shot up. Dudley glanced nervously at Harry, and then hastened the pace at which he was eating. No one spoke for a moment.

Petunia glanced at Vernon as he finally opened his mouth to speak. "We have to discuss your punishment, of course," he said plainly. Harry gaped. Punishment? What had _he_ done? It then dawned on him that the Dursleys still thought he had ruined their yard.

"I won't accept punishment for something I didn't do," he said plainly. Vernon's eyes narrowed again, and his face began to take on the puce shade that it usually gained when he was beyond angry at Harry.

"You're living under _my_ roof, boy. You'll accept punishment for whatever I say," his uncle growled. Harry rolled his eyes. The Dursleys had forgotten that wizards came of age at 17. At least, Vernon had (which wasn't surprising in the least). Petunia, however, seemed to be pondering.

"Your birthday is the day after tomorrow," she murmured. Harry resisted the urge to say something sarcastic in return. It appeared that his aunt was going to stand up for him for once. Instead, he settled for a quick nod. Petunia tapped her fingers on the table top. Everyone stared at her – Dudley even stopped eating in order to do so – and waited for her to speak.

Finally, she did, "You'll be 17, which is the legal age for…" she paused here, trying to find a way around saying the word 'wizards.' She settled on, "_Your_ kind," eventually. Harry nodded again. Being told he had to leave early July 31 wouldn't bother him – he was planning to do so anyway – but if Petunia said anything else…

However, it wasn't his aunt who continued speaking. "You'll be leaving?" Vernon asked. His voice was hopeful, and Harry simply blinked at him and nodded dumbly. Why would he stay any longer than was necessary?

Vernon grinned, and then a frown creased his forehead. "You're to go to your room and stay there until you leave," Harry shrugged. He'd expected that, "No meals," Vernon added. Harry rolled his eyes, stood, and left the kitchen before his sentence could be added to.

No meals. Well, that wasn't anything new. He fell onto his bed and pulled a scrap of parchment, intending to scribble a letter to Ron asking about Apparation testing. He fell asleep before he had the chance.

The next day moved slowly. Even though Harry had managed to sleep late, it still seemed to him that the afternoon was crawling by. He was eager, he realised. Eager to see his friends again and eager to leave the Dursleys for good. He read through another chapter of the defensive spell book he'd been looking through the night prior, and was working on the wand motion for it (a jab and swish movement) when his uncle came barging into the room.

The man's eyes narrowed into points as they fixed onto Harry's wand, and Harry quickly stuffed the strip of wood away. "I wasn't doing anything," he muttered quickly. His uncle's eyes said that they didn't believe him.

"I want you out by 10 tomorrow morning," Vernon ordered. Harry shrugged. He'd leave when he was ready, though it would probably be before 10. Long before 10, he hoped. Ignoring his uncle who still stood in the doorway, Harry walked to the small wardrobe that rested against the far wall, opened it and pulled his Firebolt from its dark confines. He proceeded in meticulously checking for scratches, before progressing to the tail and checking for any loose twigs. Clippers from his broom care-kit took off two. He was beginning to polish the handle when his uncle spoke again.

"You can't just… Teleport?" he asked blandly. Harry looked up at him and shook his head with a slight roll of his eyes. Teleport? Uncle Vernon really _was_ an ignorant muggle.

"Wizards don't _teleport_, Uncle Vernon," he said sounding exasperated. Vernon winced at hearing the word 'wizard' being spoken to him. "And I can't legally Apparate until I have my licence." Vernon harrumphed.

"You're not _flying_ out of my yard in _broad_ daylight!" Vernon bellowed. Harry blinked at him. An ignorant and extremely dense muggle.

"Disillusionment charm on my trunk, my broomstick and myself," Harry explained blandly. "I don't feel like being the target of media attention, muggle or otherwise." Vernon glared at him, and Harry returned the look. He'd thought of everything, he wasn't stupid.

Vernon didn't appear to have any further objections, and turned to leave the room with a scowled, "No later than 10, boy." Harry rolled his eyes as the door slammed shut and one of the bolts slid into place. He returned to polishing his Firebolt. Half an hour later found Harry smelling of broom polish, sitting on his bed and holding the shining racing broom in his hands. He placed it to the side of the room as he heard the bolt slide back again. It surprised him that it was Dudley who came swaggering in.

His cousin sneered at the broomstick and made to grab it. Harry's wand was out at once, pointed toward the pudgy blonde boy, "Touch it and I'll curse you," he warned in a wary voice. Dudley jumped back, his eyes showing much the same fear as his father's had as he stared at the wand.

"Y-you wouldn't. D-dad would-" he began to stutter. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I would," he said blandly, but lowered his wand as Dudley moved father away from the Firebolt. "And Uncle Vernon couldn't do anything, seeing as I'm leaving tomorrow," he knew Dudley had already known this, but the boy's eyes lit up anyway. Harry instantly had his guard up. His cousin being this happy was usually bad news for Harry.

Memories of 'Harry-hunting' came back. "What do you want, Dudley?" Harry asked. His cousin shrugged, swaggered over to the bed and sat down, completely uninvited. Harry glared at him, but his cousin deemed not to notice, and then turned to face him with a blank look on his face. The boy really was stupid.

"Dad really hates you, you know," the other boy started slowly. Harry blinked. Had it taken 16 years for Dudley to figure that out? He waited for the boy to continue – there had to be some other reason for his approach. "I think it's 'cause he's scared of you." Harry nodded. That, and his uncle was a racist idiot.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Harry asked in a bored tone. His cousin shrugged and Harry rolled his eyes before standing and beginning to throw things absently into his trunk. Dudley picked up a spell book from the floor and read the cover aloud, though Harry barely heard the murmuring of 'Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4,' as he went around the room gathering other books.

The trunk was nearly full when Dudley spoke again, "I've always thought that Mum might like you a bit, even if she doesn't show it." Harry snorted. Aunt Petunia, _like_ him? The woman had a way of showing it if she did.

"Somehow, I doubt it," he said plainly, looking around the room and sighing at the amount of stuff that was still lying around. He pondered the space issues for a moment. Enchanting the trunk would be easiest. Of course, if he didn't want to be expelled from Hogwarts – again – he'd have to wait until the next morning to charm it.

Dudley shrugged and stood, "Whatever," he muttered, "See ya, Potter." And he turned and left the room. Harry stared after his cousin in wonder. What had Dudley been thinking? Harry blinked and looked around after a moment, cursing Dudley silently. 'A Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4' was missing. Bloody Dursleys.

He tried to open the door, annoyed when it wouldn't budge. He eyed the clock on the wall, contemplating blasting the door from its frame. But it wasn't yet midnight. He groaned and leaned back against the hardwood of the door. Leave it to Dudley to make his leaving more difficult. Hedwig hooted suddenly, and Harry looked at her surprised. She was staring out the window. It was one hour to midnight, what could be bothering the owl?

Wand in hand, Harry walked to the window and cautiously peered out. It was darker than was normal outside of the house. Harry didn't think it was possible for all of the street lights to have burned out, but it seemed that that was the case. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as a dark shape moved in the yard, near where the ruined hedges stood. A burst of light appeared, momentarily illuminating the darkened area. Four figures in large black cloaks stood there. The light had been a spell.

There were Death Eaters outside the Dursleys.

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**Author's Corner**

First chapter finished D Now, just to warn everyone, I made up the summary on the spot. Which is why it's pretty bad. But it'll probably change as I write more chapters. ...I hope

Review, and I'll probably get chapter 2 up faster, since I just have to type it… Motivate me to type!

Until chapter 2---


	2. Unforgivable Acts

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. He, and all of the characters mentioned in the book series of the same title, belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

**Warning: **Half-Blood Prince spoilers.

**Summary:** As the Dark Lord once again rises to power, Harry Potter finds himself facing situations only found in his nightmares. The path of darkness is followed by those who have nothing to lose, but has Harry really reached that point?

_Does not feature Horcrux storyline!

* * *

_

**Dark Wings**

_Chapter Two – Unforgivable Acts_

Death Eaters. It had been Death Eaters who had trashed the Dursley's yard. The explained the missing pieces of pottery – any curse would have partially eliminated the piece it came into contact with. Harry backed away from the window before one of the figures could spot him, and his hand tightened on his wand. He moved to his bedroom door and banged on it.

The Dursleys would pay attention. They _had_ to pay attention. The wards wouldn't fall until midnight, but Death Eaters could be patient. They'd strike as soon as Dumbledore's protections fell, as soon as Harry no longer had to think of 4 Privet Drive as home.

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew that the four Death Eaters could easily overwhelm him. He knew that Voldemort would have sent out his most trusted and strongest followers. And Voldemort's strongest and most trusted followers all seemed to harbour strong feelings of hate against Harry. Not that Harry had any fond feelings toward any of them.

He banged on the door again before walking back across the room to look out of the window once again. One of the Death Eaters had removed his hood, and Harry was able to make out the lighter colouring of what had to be blonde hair. Lucius Malfoy was one of the Death Eaters. How the hell had he gotten out of Azkaban?

Harry groaned and ran his hands through already unruly hair, and again pounded on the bedroom door. He had no idea how Voldemort had found him – he'd thought the wards were supposed to prevent tracking spells – but he wasn't going to sit idly while Death Eaters captured him. He was satisfied to hear angry footsteps stomping up the stairs.

The bolt on the other side of the door slid back, and Vernon opened the door to glare at his nephew. "Your aunt is trying to sleep, boy!" He roared. Harry refrained from pointing out that his uncle was making more noise than Harry had been. He didn't have the time to waste on an idle argument. The wards would fall in less than 45 minutes.

"There are Death Eaters outside, Uncle Vernon," Harry said calmly. The man gave him a bewildered look. "Voldemort's supporters!" he clarified loudly. Vernon continued to stare at him, looking quite confused, and Harry glared. "Go outside then!" He dared loudly. His uncle frowned at him, and Harry glanced at the clock again. Just over half an hour before the spells expired.

"What would Voldie-whatsit's supporters be doing here?" Vernon asked. Harry was surprised to hear a hint of fear in his uncle's voice. Was the reality of the murder of Harry's parents finally dawning on him? Probably, now that his own family was in danger.

Vernon's look changed to a scowl, and then a fierce glare. "You're putting my family in danger again boy, and I won't have it!" he exploded. Harry backed away as the man's hands came at him, and he coolly brought his wand up to point at his uncle's chest. The man smirked, "You can't do anything."

Harry looked at the clock again, "Watch me," he muttered. 25 minutes to go. By the time a notice got to him concerning under age magic, he'd be of age. His uncle's eyes widened fearfully, and Vernon stepped back. Harry nodded and lowered his wand. "They won't hesitate to kill you, and I won't deny them being after me," he looked at Vernon warily as he explained.

The man looked frightened now, "What am I supposed to do?" he asked. Harry found that he actually had a small feeling of pity for his uncle. He refused to let it show though. The man didn't deserve his pity.

"Stay out of their way, or you'll discover that my parents weren't simply 'blown up,'" he snapped. Vernon paled and nodded, looking past Harry and into his nephew's room. Harry ignored him, crossed the room and dug into his trunk, pulling out the first book to connect with his hand. He quickly threw it aside. A book on the 'Cannons' certainly wasn't going to help him.

The next book he pulled out was one from the set he'd been given for the D.A. in fifth year. He filed quickly through its pages, pausing occasionally to review a spell, before throwing that to the side as well. The house shook, and there was an explosion of light outside of the window, making Harry briefly wonder how the wards had been set to work. Dark magic couldn't pass, luckily. But the wards were definitely beginning to weaken.

Harry spun to face his uncle, who was still standing in the doorway. "What are you waiting for?" Harry asked loudly. "There are _murderers_ outside. Wake up Aunt Petunia and _hide_!" He was aware of his voice shaking, and of the increase of his pulse as adrenaline began to flow through his body. There was going to be a fight. Someone was likely to die.

It was 10 minutes to midnight when Vernon bolted from the doorway to wake his wife. It was 8 minutes to midnight when he had succeeded in waking both wife and son. It was 3 minutes to midnight when he finalized the locking spell on the door of the master bedroom where they had chosen to hide.

It was one minute to midnight when a fist pounded on the door, demanding entry. It was a mere 30 seconds to midnight when Harry took a position next to the cupboard under the stairs, facing the door with his wand raised, Lucius Malfoy leering in at him. The clock had chimed the twelfth stroke of midnight when Harry was forced to dodge the first curse thrown, and when the fighting began.

No words were spoken, save the occasional muttered curse, but Harry didn't need voices to recognise the four Death Eaters who had invaded number 4 Privet Drive. He'd found himself duelling Lucius Malfoy. He'd seen Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange run up the stairs. He'd been aware of the presence of Severus Snape. He'd found that his guard fell upon hearing the first screams from the upper floor, and his own had joined as he was hit with the Cruciatus curse.

The curse let up at the scream of an owl from somewhere outside. Hedwig! Lucius leered at him and backed out of the door, his eyes searching the sky and giving Harry time to recover from the torture. The screams from the upper floor continued.

A curse shot from the end of Harry's wand and hit Lucius Malfoy in the back while the man was still looking for Hedwig. The man fell to the ground, stunned. That took care of one, but what of the others? Harry winced as his aunt's screams joined those that had only been his uncle's and cousin's previously. Was Snape up there too?

He paced slowly around the main floor of the house, looking for the traitorous Death Eater. He found the man standing in the kitchen, raised his wand and shouted the first spell that came to mind, "Expelliarmus!"

The Death Eater snickered as the spell reflected off of an unspoken shield he'd cast. "Still stupid, Potter," he said tauntingly. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"At least I'm not a traitorous bastard," he snapped. The man frowned and looked down at his wand in a bored manner.

"Language, Potter," he said, sounding as bored as he appeared to be. Harry's glare increased, but Snape gave no sign that he noticed. The screams on the floor above stopped, and Harry gave a second to let his eyes flicker upward. His ears caught Bellatrix's voice cackling.

Snape stepped forward then, and Harry involuntary took a step backward. The ex-Potions Master smirked, "Frightened, Potter?" Harry scowled and made to shake his head. Snape, however, wasn't looking for a response. He raised his wand, and had cast a spell before Harry realised that he was moving. Harry again found himself on the floor, suffering under the Cruciatus curse.

Snape removed it as abruptly as he had cast it, "Pity the Dark Lord wants you whole and sane for when he kills you." Snape's voice sounded almost disappointed. Harry raised his wand, arm shaking from the excruciating pain he'd been submitted to.

He flicked his wand, aiming to stun the man. Snape snorted and the spell reflected back off of yet another shield. "Remember occlumency, Potter?" he asked idly. Harry scowled and shakily worked his way to his feet. Another of Snape's spells knocked him back to the ground almost instantly, knocking his glasses off and rendering him nearly blind. He groped around on the floor for them, wincing when the heel of Snape's boot connected with his fingers and ground them into the floor.

Harry grit his teeth against the pain as he felt two of his fingers snap under the pressure being put on them. He let out a soft whimper when Snape drew his foot back, and tried to move his fingers slowly, gaining no reaction but pain. Rodolphus Lestrange came down the stairs then, sniggering at the sight of Harry on the floor at Snape's feet.

"Lord'll want him soon, Snape. Should prolly leave," the man said, looking at the greasy haired man in front of him and ignoring Harry.

Snape raised an eyebrow, "If you wife is finished…" he said dryly. The sound of Bellatrix's cackle floated down the stairs and Rodolphus laughed raucously. Snape continued speaking only when he'd finished. "Where is Malfoy?"

"Garden –" Rodolphus managed to reply, before he was cut off by the first explosive 'CRACK!' that accompanied an Apparating wizard. Soon, the kitchen was full – Harry, though only able to count legs – thought that at _least_ eight people had just appeared.

There was a flurry of spells cast, and Harry found himself being dragged across the room. As Snape and Rodolphus fell to the floor, Harry, though unable to see clearly, became aware of the person who was holding him.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Remus' voice asked softly near his ear. It had been the Order who had come to his rescue. Wearily, Harry held his hand up. The werewolf hissed when he saw the crumpled digits that should have been working fingers. Harry felt the adrenaline ebb from his system, and he was suddenly very aware of the pain that his body was in.

He swooned, nausea overcoming his senses, and turned to vomit weakly onto the tiles of the kitchen floor. He was aware of Remus gently stroking his back, and of voices conversing in low tones near him, but nothing more than that. Finally feeling safe, Harry's guard dropped and he slowly fell asleep.

He awoke to find that he was lying in his bed, and that it was still night. Automatically, his hand reached out to search his table for his glasses, and he was surprised to find that his hand was tightly bound in bandages. Someone's firm hand moved his back to the bed.

"Go back to sleep, Harry." Hermione. Harry blinked his eyes to try to better focus them, but Hermione's hand moved to lightly cover them.

"You're exhausted. Sleep," her tone was more commanding this time, but Harry shook his head, both refusing her words, and trying to remove her hand from his eyes.

He quickly stopped the motion – it made him painfully aware that his scar was burning. "The Dursleys…" he croaked. Hermione let out a soft sound, like a sigh, and began to gently stroke his hair.

"Sleep," she murmured, gently beginning to hum a soft tune.

Harry was almost asleep when someone burst into the room. His eyes shot open, and Hermione hissed like an angry cat. "What do _you_ want?" she demanded loudly. Harry, still unable to properly see, strained his ears to try and hear the one who had barged in. He was surprised to hear his aunt's voice.

"Is he alright?" Petunia asked softly, so softly that Harry almost missed it. Hermione let out a frustrated groan, which was at odds with the gentle touch of the hand that was still stroking his hair.

"Of course he's not alright," Hermione snapped. "He hasn't eaten in over 24 hours, two of the fingers in his right hand are _shattered_, not to mention that he's exhausted and suffering from exposure to the Cruciatus curse…" she trailed off then and laid her hand back across his eyes. "Go back to sleep, Harry!"

Harry grimaced and brought his uninjured hand to bat hers' away. "Stop that," he muttered. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh while Harry tried to sit up, and finally adjusted her body so that he was leaning back against her. It surprised him at how weak he was. "Glasses?" he requested simply. Another exasperated sigh, and Harry felt his glasses being put into his hand. He brought them to his face and slipped them on. He blinked his eyes to bring the room into focus.

His aunt was still standing in the doorway, her face pale and blotchy, and her hair tousled and messy. She'd been crying. "They killed Vernon," she whispered. Harry grimaced and hung his head. He'd hated his uncle, and his uncle had hated him, but being killed by Death Eaters was no way to die.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. He looked up to see that his aunt had her back turned, and that she was peering out the door. He looked to Hermione, "The Order caught them?" he asked hopefully.

Hermione grimaced, "They caught Rodolphus Lestrange… Snape, Lucius Malfoy and that horrible Lestrange woman got away."

Harry nodded, he'd expected it to be that way. "My cousin?" Hermione laughed in a tone that was almost cruel.

"Still in shock. He'll be fine, eventually; once he's recovered from Cruciatus shock," she paused and then added, "Of course, he'll probably be afraid of magic for the rest of his life, but…"she trailed off, her tone of voice saying that she didn't think Dudley was any loss. Harry was surprised. It really wasn't like Hermione to be so cruel.

"He was already afraid of magic," Harry said blandly. Hermione nodded. Harry frowned then, and winced, bringing his hand to his temple as his scar began to burn again. Occlumency or not, it was easy for him to tell that Voldemort was angry that the Death Eaters had failed. The burning feeling intensified, and Harry let out a gasp of pain. Voldemort was past angry.

"Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Harry, are you alright?" Harry turned his gaze to her and shakily gave a brief nod, quickly halted by a throb of his head. It hadn't been this bad in a while. Hermione's mumble of 'Ice!' was almost lost to his ears before he found that he was again laying flat on his back.

His vision blurred, and the blur increased when someone removed his glasses. He was aware that Hermione had left, and fought his foggy, pain filled head to try and figure out who was with him. Aunt Petunia had been the only one around, his brain finally told him.

Hermione was back then, and something cold contacted with the side of his head. He shied away from the shock of the chill and softly whimpered. A pair of hands gently forced his head back, and the ice was again put to his temple. Hermione's voice was murmuring words softly, incoherently, near his ears, and the hands that had previously been restraining his head had begun fussing.

He was aware of conversation above him, and of his blankets being moved around. "He's sweating." Aunt Petunia's voice, as the blankets were tugged away. A chill swept across his body, and he reached for the blanket. It was quickly drawn back over him.

"It's a reaction to the injuries," Hermione's voice wasn't patient. "Remove the blanket if he complains he's too hot. Don't do it otherwise," she instructed. Aunt Petunia let out a frustrated sigh, no doubt directed at the instruction that she was being given by a girl the same age as her son. However, Harry's blankets didn't move again.

The room fell silent, and it struck Harry that there had to be a silencing ward on the room – he doubted that the entire house was this quiet. Perhaps it was a good thing though, he thought drowsily, it meant that he could return to sleep. And sleep he did.

* * *

**Author's Corner**

Chapter Two… And I know where this is going now. So it does have direction, and a complete plot-line and the like… :D

Until chapter three---

* * *

Complete – Nov. 28/2005 


	3. Magic

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. He, and all of the characters mentioned in the book series of the same title, belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

**Warning: **Half-Blood Prince spoilers.

**Summary:** As the Dark Lord once again rises to power, Harry Potter finds himself facing situations only found in his nightmares. The path of darkness is followed by those who have nothing to lose, but has Harry really reached that point?

_Does not feature Horcrux storyline!_

* * *

**Dark Wings**

_Chapter Three – Magic_

The next day passed in a blur of reporters, both magical and non-magical, with Ministry Obliviators walking around and making Muggle investigators forget why they were there. Harry was the victim of many an interview and photos were taken of him – mostly reporters from wizard newspapers, as the Muggles thought Aunt Petunia's view to be more relevant.

Petunia and Dudley had been forbidden to give information to the Muggles, and even stories given to the Wizarding papers were being restricted. Memory charms hadn't been performed on Petunia or Dudley – they'd already known of the hidden Wizard world, if not all of the details, and it had been decided that there was no reason to complicate matters further (which is surely what would have happened, had false memories of Vernon's death been planted into the heads of his wife and son).

Harry's broken fingers had been healed that morning by a strict Healer who had accompanied Lupin back to the house. Harry hadn't caught the man's name, but he'd heard something about him being a new member of the Order. A Healer among the ranks was a much needed addition. Still, Hermione fussed over him, until he had to forcibly (though gently) remove her from his bedside. He'd given her one of his books to occupy her, and she'd given over for the most part. Though she still insisted on making sure he ate _everything _he was given, which was irritating.

It was nothing, though, compared to the mollycoddling that Dudley was receiving from his mother. Aunt Petunia had recovered quickly enough after being seen by the Healer, but Dudley had not. Harry's cousin had refused to let the man anywhere near him and so had been left in his mother's care. Of course, Petunia couldn't cure magically induced injuries near as well as a trained Healer, so she'd taken to doing completely unnecessary things instead. Dudley wasn't getting any better.

Harry dozed when he wasn't being harassed by reporters or eating, and so was surprised when he was awoken to find Professor Minerva McGonagall standing by his bedside. The stern woman appeared extremely stressed – wisps of hair had escaped her normally tight bun and fallen to messily frame her face, making her appear dangerous, as well as somewhat insane. However, she smiled faintly at Harry when he woke, and, with a great show of outward calm, took a seat in the chair next to his bed.

Harry made to sit up, but one of McGonagall's hands was suddenly on his shoulder, holding him in place. "I've seen you in worse states, Mr Potter, but you're still ill," she said calmly. Harry frowned, but didn't move to sit up again.

"It has been decided that you will stay at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer holiday, and likely until next June," Harry opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall spoke over him. "You do not have a choice in this, Mr Potter." She said sternly. Harry frowned again. He hated it when people took control of his life.

"Mr Weasley and Miss Granger will be joining you, of course," she added calmly. "And I can assure you that as Hogwarts Headmistress, I will do all I can to ensure that the castle is safe for your stay there, Potter." Harry blinked before nodding. He'd forgotten that McGonagall would be taking over now that Dumbledore had passed on.

"Professor, who's the new Head of Gryffindor going to be?" Harry asked curiously. McGonagall frowned, then sighed and shook her head.

"You'll find out when you arrive, I suppose," she responded. Harry raised an eyebrow; he hadn't expected it to be someone he'd know. McGonagall stood then, "Until then, Mr Potter," she said, nodding before turning and leaving the room.

Hermione entered as she left. Looking around the room, she tittered and began to circuit the small space, picking up various scattered objects and stacking them neatly near Harry's trunk. Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Hermione?" he asked questioningly.

She paused to look at him, "McGonagall got rid of all the media. She says that if you're up to it, we can go to Hogwarts tonight. She's gotten permission from the Ministry to allow you to Apparate without your licence, but only for today…" she trailed off and Harry blinked as she rushed at him and threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

He briefly hugged her back, and then gently pushed her away. "Let's go then," he murmured. He sat up (though he still needed help from Hermione to do so), and swung his legs over the side of the bed, slowly standing. It chagrined him to have Hermione support him on one side, but then, he hadn't remembered standing taking as much effort before, and he didn't want to fall over.

"We don't _have_ to leave _now_, Harry," Hermione said gently. Harry frowned at her and she rolled her eyes. "You are so stubborn!" she exclaimed. Harry shrugged and grinned at her, not receiving any response other than the shake of her head.

Harry, using the assistance of the wall as well as Hermione's help, crossed the room to his trunk, bent down, and pulled plain robes from the mess. Hermione raised an eyebrow when he pointed to the door with a mutter of, "Out." There was a hint of laughter in his voice, and Hermione harrumphed as she spun and left the room, mumbling something that sounded (to Harry's ears) like, 'Men!'

He chuckled as he shed his clothes and changed into the loose black robe. Once he'd dressed, he looked around the room and blinked. "Hermione!" he exclaimed, somewhat shocked, "Where's my wand?" Hermione re-entered the room then, looked around briefly and sighed.

She pointed at his dresser. He furrowed his brow at her as he crossed the room to it and pulled open the uppermost drawer. There, sitting on a neatly organised pile of old socks (that Harry didn't recall organising), was his wand. He picked it up and ran a finger along the soft wood. At the tip, he came to a jagged area and grimaced. Further inspection showed tiny slivers of wood missing, meaning that the wand had probably been stepped on, much like his fingers. Bloody Death Eaters!

"Harry…" Hermione said cautiously. Harry sighed and shook his head. It wasn't bad, he'd likely be able to fix it, and it was definitely still functional. There was no point in screaming about it; besides, he was too tired for that. Instead, he crossed to his trunk and charmed it so that the interior was larger. After he'd piled everything into it (including things he'd hidden in the loose floorboard below his bed), he sighed and fell onto the soft mattress of his bed with a soft _flump._

He wasn't yet sure that he _wanted _to return to Hogwarts. In that month after Dumbledore's death, the castle had begun to feel alien. The very essence of the magic that surrounded the castle had changed, and by the time the students had left for the summer, the signature was barely recognisable. Yes, it felt the same, but there was something missing from it. He knew he wasn't the only one to notice this, far from it in fact, but he was sure he was the only one who was so disconcerted from the fact.

However, it appeared that he didn't have much of a choice. He may have been of age, but that wasn't something that anyone seemed particularly concerned about. Everyone was expecting his to do as he was told, and to abide by the rules they'd imposed to keep him safe. Frustrating, yes; something he could take control of, no.

He sighed again and stared at the end of his wand. As long as the phoenix feather wasn't visible, he knew that he didn't have much to worry about. All the same, he was fond of his wand. Six years of using it and he'd grown quite attached, no matter what its relatives were. He touched the tip of the wand again, and then murmured, "Lumos," in a soft voice. The wand tip dazzled, and Harry nodded before extinguishing it. If Ollivander every reappeared, then he could get it repaired. Or he could go to another wand maker. Either way, it could be repaired, and be good as new again.

He shook his head, quaking with silent laughter, and wondering if his sanity would be as safe as Hogwarts as he presumably would be.

* * *

McGonagall didn't come by again until after night had fallen, and when she did, there were bags under her eyes and a tone of exhaustion in her voice when she told him that it was time for him to go to Hogwarts. A young woman came into the room behind her and smiled at him. "I can take over from here, Minerva," she said to McGonagall. The ex-Head of Gryffindor nodded.

"Potter, this is Sarah Levithan. She's a member of the Order and is going to be looking out for you at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said. Harry looked sceptically at her. They were assigning people to watch him again? That figured. He nodded though, to both Professor McGonagall and to Levithan. Apparently satisfied, McGonagall turned and left the room.

The strange woman looked around the room, and then at Harry, and Harry took this opportunity to watch her. A very pretty woman, she was robed in black and red, with a light summer cloak – also black – wrapped around her shoulders. A fancy pointed hat – again, black - with a wide, feather-decked brim sat upon her head, and her hair fell from beneath it in soft chestnut waves. What caught his attention the most though, was her eyes. They were a silvery-violet, which glowed in the half darkness like those of a cat.

His eyes met hers and she nodded shortly, "Shall we go, Harry?" she asked, flicking her wand and raising his trunk into the air. He grabbed Hedwig in her cage in one hand, his Firebolt in the other and followed the slight woman from the room.

They walked down the stairs in a silence that wasn't echoed by the rest of the house. In fact, Harry found that once he had left his bedroom (for the last time, he hoped) that noise hit his ears in an explosion of sound. He bent over, crouching low to the ground to put Hedwig and his broom on the floor at the same time as his hands flew to his ears. The sound was overwhelming after two days of near-complete silence, and his head began throbbing almost instantly.

Without realising what he was doing, Harry had moved instinctively back to the silence of the bedroom, where he let out a deep sigh, and placed both of his hands to his aching forehead. Levithan came into the room after him and he heard her give a soft sigh. "I'll have your things sent to Hogwarts after, and we'll Apparate from here then. Does that sound better, Harry?" she asked. Harry noticed that her voice was very soft and considerate of his headache. He nodded once in response to her question, and stood.

* * *

A few hours later found him sitting in Gryffindor common room, staring at the fire that roared in the hearth. Neither Ron, nor Hermione had yet arrived, leaving him sitting alone with only the portraits and Hedwig for company. He stroked the snowy owls' feathers absently as he pondered on the information that Professor McGonagall had given him upon his arrival.

There wasn't going to be a new Head of Gryffindor house, not this year at least, because McGonagall and the Ministry had agreed that Hogwarts had to be closed 'until further notice.' This was going to leave Harry, Ron and Hermione in private study for a year. Harry knew that the original plan had been for him to receive the private training, alone, but he was glad that Hermione and Ron were allowed to participate as well. It would be far less lonely.

McGonagall had also informed him that Sarah Levithan was going to be partaking in instructing them. Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about the woman. She was strange, that was for sure. He'd found out from Remus that she'd been a Slytherin when in school, and in the same year as his parents had been, and he also knew that she'd been in the Auror office for three years after graduation. But she'd vanished, without a trace, the same year that Voldemort had fallen. Remus hadn't been sure when she'd re-appeared, but he thought that it had been only a couple of years before Voldemort had risen again.

This had been warning enough for Harry, and had made him very wary of the woman. Her having disappeared at the same time as Voldemort didn't seem right to him and Remus hadn't been able to figure out any reason for it either. But what was he to do? He'd tell Ron and Hermione, when they showed up, that was for sure. He only hoped that they'd see the severity of the situation, and not tell him – yet again – that he was being suspicious for no particular reason.

Until that time though… He sighed and gave Hedwig an owl treat that he'd found in his pocket, "Go up to the Owlery and get some sleep," he murmured to her. She hooted softly at him and took flight, exiting the window silently and flying around the Tower. Harry watched her until she was out of sight, then sighed and stood. He trudged up to his bed in the dormitory and looked around. Nothing felt the same in the castle anymore, not even the bed he'd occupied for the six years he'd been attending Hogwarts. He hoped that it would change when Ron came, but he doubted it.

He dropped onto his bed with another sigh and closed his eyes, contemplating simply sleeping in the common room. Before he could act on the thought, however, he'd fallen into a deep sleep.

* * *

_Author's Corner_

A bit shorter than I usually write, but I didn't want to get the next part of the storyline moving and then leave a cliff-hanger. The next chapter will bring more information about Sarah Levithan, and probably a bit more angst.

Eventually, I'm trying to lead up to a major character death so that the story actually _moves_ faster, but there are some things I had to introduce and lay down. Hopefully, the story will pick up a bit more in chapter four.

Until then---

* * *

Completed – December 28/05 


	4. His Crimes

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. He, and all of the characters mentioned in the book series of the same title, belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

**Warning: **Half-Blood Prince spoilers.

**Summary:** As the Dark Lord once again rises to power, Harry Potter finds himself facing situations only found in his nightmares. The path of darkness is followed by those who have nothing to lose, but has Harry really reached that point?

_Does not feature Horcrux storyline!

* * *

_

**Dark Wings**

_Chapter Four – His Crimes_

Harry was grateful that he had Ron and Hermione in his life. His two best friends definitely made life more bearable, and he knew that if he ever lost them, he'd surely go insane. This was why he kept his friends close; even when they thought he was seeing problems where there weren't any, such as in the case of Sarah Levithan.

After Remus' warning, he'd known not to trust her. After his first private lesson with her, he had _understood_ why putting any trust in her could be possibly tragic. It wasn't that the woman wasn't kind, far from it. She was one of the most patient people Harry had ever met. However, she was also very demanding.

She was instructing them in training that a first year Auror would receive. Harry found it a nice change – knowing that he'd instructed the D.A., McGonagall had likely ensured that Levithan wouldn't teach them anything that they had already learned.

She'd quizzed them on Patronuses first, and had been pleasantly surprised when Hermione had produced her otter, Ron his shimmering Jack Russell, and Harry his stag. It had been then that she'd launched into stronger defences including (and it irked Harry to no end that people were trying to educate him in it again) Occlumency.

Harry was still dismal at it, and predicted that he'd likely remain as such. At least it wasn't Snape peering into his head anymore. It was still odd though, having someone force you to relive your worst memories. And it was the worst memories that Levithan aimed at. How many times had he seen Dumbledore fly from the Astronomy Tower? How many times had he been witness to Sirius falling through the veil?

He hated it, and he hated Levithan for putting him through it, day after day. She tried to reason it out with him, telling him that if he didn't want to relive the scenes, he'd be able to push her out with more force. She'd made it sound like he enjoyed watching people die, and it was another reason for him not to trust her.

Hermione thought that he was being foolish, but then, she was doing far better in the training than he was. So was Ron, for that matter, though he wasn't doing near as well as Hermione. Harry hated being rubbish at things, and hated even more that he was being forced to continue that which he was rubbish at.

"Sickle for your thoughts, mate." Ron's voice came to his ears as though from a distance, and he turned to stare at his red haired friend. Both Hermione and Ron had concerned expressions on their faces that Harry knew wouldn't be shaken off by his denying that he hadn't been distracted. Instead, he chose to say nothing, but stood and crossed the room to stand just in front of the fireplace.

Gryffindor common room held too many memories that he felt overwhelmed by, each and every time he entered. He'd taken to spending more time outside of Gryffindor Tower than within it. However, he did wish that he could spend sometime _outside_ of the castle. McGonagall wasn't having it though – Harry had asked, and argued, but the Headmistress had stayed firm.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice, right next to his ear. One of her hands reached up and touched his forehead. He shied away and shook his head sharply.

"Nothing. It's nothing," he said quietly. Hermione frowned at him, but for once, she didn't say anything further. Instead, she turned to Ron, and then angled herself to take them both in.

"Let's go down to the Great Hall, it's about lunchtime now," she said with a tone that stated she was trying to act as if everything was normal. As if nothing had changed since they'd become friends. But everything had changed. They weren't innocent children anymore. They were legal adults, no matter how young they were compared to most full witches and wizards. They were young adults who had seen too much. Nothing was the same as it had been six years prior. Nothing.

His feet followed Hermione and Ron down to the Great Hall, his mind not catching up until he heard shouts, and a shriek of, "Move! Potter, move!" Harry dropped to the floor, feeling his hair ruffle as a spell shot past. He had no time to check the colour of the spell, but had an odd feeling that it had been the sickly green that forever haunted his nightmares.

Harry wasn't aware of what happened afterward. He had no idea how _Death Eaters_ had gotten into Hogwarts, but he did suspect them to be the same as those who had ambushed him at the Dursleys. He ended up in a fierce duel with one, both of them combating in only non-verbal spell work, until his opponent shrieked a curse for the room to hear.

"Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix's voice howled. Instinctively, he allowed himself to fall to the ground. He was aware of a familiar shout behind him, and then came the rumbling noise of a statue crumbling. The curse hadn't hit anything.

"Go! Leave! Your orders were not for Hogwarts!" shouted a voice that Harry didn't recognise. It surprised him, and the next thing he knew was his glasses flying from his face and his body sprawled on his back. There was a flurry of movement above him, and he was aware of many footfalls and the swishing sound of robes and cloaks as the assailants scrambled to leave the hall.

He was barely aware of anything by the time familiar, friendly and non-panicked voices began to fill his ears, and finally he knew nothing as he was raised into a stretcher and magicked to the hospital wing.

* * *

"What was he hit with?" 

"Will he be alright?"

"Harry, can you hear me?"

Harry's ears met with an onslaught of noise as he regained consciousness in the hospital wing nearly three days later. He blinked his eyes open and hurriedly slipped his glasses on before letting his eyes flicker onto the people who were gathered around his bedside.

"How did they get in?" he asked groggily. Hermione and Ron shared a resigned look, and then Hermione shook her head.

"No one could figure that out, Harry," Ron said with a shrug. "Security's been multiplied though…" he trailed off, and Harry sensed that he wasn't getting the full story.

"What is it?" he demanded. Hermione sighed.

"The wards on the castle are weakening, but no one's sure why. They think it might be because there aren't any students around," Hermione explained. Harry shook his head and groaned. It would have been easy then.

"What happened? In the fight, I mean," Harry asked. Hermione sighed again.

"We came down the stairs. It was McGonagall who shouted for you to move, and then they started attacking. We're not sure who it was exactly, but someone shouted for them to leave – you heard that, right? – And then Ron was almost hit by the Avada Kedavra…" Hermione's voice had gone very quiet.

Harry looked at Ron to see and uncomfortable expression on his features, and a strange look in his blue eyes. "I don't know how you can have that curse directed at you so often and still be sane, Harry," Ron muttered, shaking his head.

Harry let out a soft laugh and shrugged as Hermione continued, "We aren't sure what you were hit with, Harry, but even Madam Pomfrey said that we were just going to have to let it run its course…" she shook her head. "You're alright now, aren't you?" He thought that he could see a strange look in her eye as she asked this. A strange look that seemed almost like guilt. He nodded comfortingly and made to get up.

"You lie back down, Mr Potter!" came Madam Pomfrey's voice from down the ward as the matron came toward them. Harry sighed and obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

Madam Pomfrey checked him over quickly, then sighed and gave him a large piece of chocolate, "You are a very lucky man, Mr Potter," she muttered, shaking her head and walking back down the ward. "You can go!" she exclaimed as she entered her office.

Harry grinned and rose from the bed, popping the chocolate into his mouth and leaving the wing with Hermione and Ron trailing behind.

"You're both okay?" he asked, turning to face them (and walking backward as a result) after he'd finished the chocolate. They nodded and Harry sighed, "You're sure?"

"We were more worried about you, mate," Ron said finally. "No offence, but you're usually in a bad state after fights with… Well, them…" he trailed off and shrugged.

Harry let out a breath and nodded slowly. "None taken," he grumbled. He wanted to know how weak the wards had gotten. If the non-Apparition ones were weak, then it would have been quite easy for the Death Eaters to get inside the castle. They wouldn't have had to go through Hogsmeade, wouldn't have drawn any unwanted attention to themselves. It would have been all too simple. And if the wards continued to weaken, Death Eaters wouldn't be the only ones entering Hogwarts uninvited.

He went straight up to the dormitory and collapsed onto his bed with a groan. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and quickly pulled the curtains shut around his bed. He knew it was probably Hermione and Ron coming to check that he was really alright, but he didn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment.

It had finally sunk in – Ron had almost been killed. Again. He'd almost lost someone else to Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius was bad enough, but Ron? He couldn't imagine losing Ron. And if Ron had been in such danger, then what had happened to Hermione? She hadn't mentioned anything about herself when recounting the battle.

He pushed back the curtain to find Ron sitting on his own bed, staring across the room at him. "Good, you're here," Harry said, sitting up. "Listen; did anything happen to Hermione? During that fight, I mean," Ron's uncomfortable look told Harry all that he needed to know. "What happened, Ron?" he urged.

Ron sighed, "She was hit with a few curses, mate," he said hesitantly. Harry raised an eyebrow, and then moved his hand, prompting Ron to continue. "She – someone Imperiused her. It was her who hit you with whatever knocked you out…" he trailed off. That was why Hermione had looked guilty. She was blaming herself for things done under the Imperius curse.

"She thinks it's her fault," Harry said in a dead tone. Ron nodded, and Harry rose from his bed and ran from the room. Hermione wasn't in the common room, which meant… He walked to the base of the stairs that led to the girls' dormitories and hollered up them.

"Hermione! Hermione!" he called. When she didn't reply, he began to run up the stairs, momentarily forgetting about the Founders' charm until he was sliding back down into the common room with an alarm blaring through the Tower.

"Hermione!" he hollered again as Ron came down the stairs form their own dormitory. Hermione came sliding down the folded in stairs then, and Harry was shocked to see that her rich brown eyes were puffy, and her cheeks were tear stained.

Harry walked to her and wrapped his arms around her. She started shaking, and began sobbing into his robes, "I'm sorry…" she whispered through her tears. "Harry, I'm so sorry…" He shook his head.

"It's _not_ your fault. Don't blame yourself for what _they _did. That's what they want, Hermione," he shivered. What if they'd made her do something else? "Never blame yourself for what the Imperius curse has made you do," he added. Still, Hermione sobbed. Harry looked at Ron over her head, meeting his eyes. Ron nodded, approached and carefully pried Hermione off of Harry. She clung to him instead, still crying softly as Ron stroked her back.

Harry could hear him murmuring things softly, but couldn't make out what he was saying. Suddenly, he turned, "Who cast it?" he growled. Ron's eyes turned almost fearful at the tone in his voice, and Hermione spun, her eyes wide and scared.

"No. You're not going after him. No way, Harry," Hermione's voice was frightened, and Harry narrowed his eyes, having gained a vague idea of who it had been.

"Snape," he scowled. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, only confirming his statement. "I'll kill him," he growled.

"No, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. She rushed back to him and again clung to him, much like a frightened child. "You can't," she whispered. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back gently before hugging her.

"It has to be done. His crimes… He has it coming," was all he said in response.

* * *

_Author's Corner_

;o; My chapters keep getting shorter, and it bothers me. Did you enjoy though? I'm sure two updates in two days is something of a record for me…

Please review, I beg you—

Until the next update-

* * *

Completed – December 29/05 


	5. Frustrated Shock

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. He, and all of the characters mentioned in the book series of the same title, belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

**Warning: **Half-Blood Prince spoilers.

**Summary:** As the Dark Lord once again rises to power, Harry Potter finds himself facing situations only found in his nightmares. The path of darkness is followed by those who have nothing to lose, but has Harry really reached that point?

_Does not feature Horcrux storyline!

* * *

_

**Dark Wings**

_Chapter 5 – Frustrated Shock_

_His crimes…_ Those he'd been witness to haunted Harry's mind over the next month. He _knew_ that he likely hadn't seen the worst of what Snape had done, nor the worst of what he was capable of, but what he _had_ seen …Dumbledore's murder… had been horrible enough for many lifetimes.

For that night haunted his nightmares, and would probably always haunt his nightmares. It had been brought to the forefront of his mind by a combination of Levithan's lessons, and of his almost constant concentration on everything he felt that Snape had to repent for. This included his latest transgression – bewitching Hermione.

Harry wouldn't have been willing to let Snape off, even if Hermione had been quick to recover from the attack. As it was, Hermione still blamed herself for what she'd done while under the Imperious curse. She still thought that she should have been able to do something, to fight it off. She still thought that she should have realised it was Harry she was being forced to curse. And nothing that Harry or Ron had tried had been able to dissuade her of these notions. As a result, Hermione had become withdrawn and timid. The behaviour was entirely un-Hermione-like, and not only did it bother Harry; it scared him. The war had barely begun, and already it had lost a warrior. Not only that, Harry had already lost a friend to herself.

Ron had his hands full with trying to care for Hermione whenever she burst into fits of tears, which seemed to be very often. More than once, they'd had to carry her to Madam Pomfrey and force her to drink a large dose of a very strong calming draught. Often, not even that was enough to help her. It didn't look to Harry like Hermione was going to recover anytime soon, and this scared him as much as her obsession with her guilt.

Snape was going to pay.

McGonagall touched the sleeping Hermione's shoulder before turning away with a soft sigh. "I don't know, Potter," she said, tone more gentle that Harry could ever remember it being, and a soft sigh followed her short sentence. "The classes you took in fourth year – your defence lessons – should have been enough to let Miss Granger – Hermione – realise that none of this was her fault," she paused, "But because it's you, Potter…" she trailed off and Harry let his head fall into his hands. She hadn't needed to mention that. He _knew_ that if Hermione had been forced to attack anyone else – save Ron, of course – she would have managed to get through this.

McGonagall's hand found Harry's should and rested on it, and he was aware of other movement in the previously silent and much deserted Hospital Wing. He shivered, and then found he was unable to stop, though he didn't believe he was cold. He was aware of the hand on his shoulder forcing him down, and he sat as a voice above him exclaimed, "Poppy! He's going into shock!"

He was cold now, despite the thick blanket that was laid across his shoulders and then wrapped tightly around him. Despite this, he was aware that he was shaking in a manor that he couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop? He heard voices around him; unable to understand what they were saying, he began to raise a hand, only to have it held down. He felt himself being lifted, and then he was lying down with a soft pillow under his head and more thick blankets piled on top of him.

He was too far gone to try to respond to the voices that were clearly asking him questions, but not to try and push away the potion that was being held to his lips. He was aware – by the condensation and heat on his face – that the potion was smoking, and he sealed his lips against it. Whatever it was, he didn't want it. But the bearer of the potion wasn't giving him a choice in the matter.

A gentle but very firm hand pried his lips apart a fraction, and forced the smoking solution down his throat. He gagged, and eventually managed to swallow, but it left him coughing and with a burning sensation in his throat afterward. He did find that he was able to control himself better though, and that the involuntary shivering had come to a halt. He was able to look up and see that Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were standing over him, both with worried frowns creasing their features.

"Potter?" McGonagall's voice was gentle, but Harry looked away, embarrassed by his moment of weakness. A gentle finger slipped under his chin and mover his head upward so that he was looking up into McGonagall's face. However, he quickly moved his eyes to one side, and they found the sleeping Hermione in her bed.

"Her condition is _not your fault_, Potter," Madam Pomfrey stated sternly. "If you believe it is, you are just as bad as she is." He knew that. He knew that it was no one's fault but Snape's. What if he had caught Snape though? Then none of this would have happened, because Snape would have been in Azkaban. Or better, he would have been dead.

"Potter. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault." Madam Pomfrey said again. Harry nodded absently, a far away look in his eyes. Snape was going to pay.

Harry was admitted out of the Hospital Wing the next day, and left after having a short conversation with Hermione, in which he tried again to convince her that what had happened wasn't her fault. He'd left very frustrated, and was beginning to think that they needed to start coming at this from a different angle. Maybe he'd try asking her how she would feel if it had been _him_ under the Imperious curse, and if it had been _he_ who had attacked _her_. That could work.

He pondered this as he made his way to his duelling lesson. He wasn't sure why McGonagall had insisted on duelling lessons – it wasn't as if Death Eaters fought fair, and the Headmistress knew that – but she had. So he and Ron had duelling lessons three times a week, each time with a different professor. They were never told in advance who they'd be duelling against at the next lesson, supposedly to keep an element of surprise and to see if their pupils could adjust accordingly. Thus far, it hadn't been all that difficult.

When he got to the room, Ron was already there, wand flashing and curses flying as he duelled Professor Levithan. It seemed that the Professor had the upper hand, but then, it always seemed that way with Ron. He still didn't have much luck with non-verbal spell casting, and his shouting along with Professor Levithan's abilities in Legilimency was causing him to lose badly. Finally, he simply let a stream of red sparks out of his wand – the signal that he was giving up – and Levithan lowered her wand arm to hang limply by her side.

"Let's go, Potter. You're late, hurry up," and she raised her wand again, casting her first spell as soon as Harry had his wand out. Harry was – barely – able to cast a shield charm in time to have the leg-locker curse bounce harmlessly away, and he followed it with a quick jinx of his own. '_Impedimenta!'_ he thought loudly. The spell shot from his wand, but Professor Levithan blocked it with an odd flick of her wand.

"You're thinking too loud, Potter. Close your mind," she said, before another jet of light came at him. He dodged out of its way, not having enough time to conjure up another shield. He let half of his concentration go toward closing his mind against her, but the other half was needed just for defence. He couldn't multi-task enough to attack back, and after only a few minutes, Professor Levithan let her wand drop. She didn't look pleased.

"You're doing worse than Weasley, Potter," she snapped. "Keep your mind on the task at hand. If you can't shield your mind and attack at the same time, then _don't_. Practice closing your mind outside of this room. A Death Eater isn't going to give up if they see you aren't fully concentrating on the duel." Her silver-violet eyes were angry and narrowed, and she paced up and down the room a moment before raising her wand again.

"Try again, Potter."

Harry didn't allow himself to be distracted this time, and their duel went on far longer than the last had, finally ending with Professor Levithan sending out the red sparks. That didn't happen often, not with this particular Professor at least, and Harry was so surprised he let fire the last curse that had been on his tongue – it flew over Professor Levithan's shoulder and blew a hole in the chalkboard. He repaired it with a wave of his wand, and turned to look at Levithan.

"Better. Much better, Potter," she applauded. They were both breathing heavily, and Ron was standing back looking impressed, and probably somewhat jealous, but Harry wasn't looking too hard for that particular emotion. "Now. How about dinner?" Both Harry and Ron looked at the clock on the wall as she said this, and Harry was surprised to see that it was, indeed, time for their evening meal.

They made their way to the Great Hall together, only parting when Levithan went to the staff end of the solitary table, and Harry and Ron chose to sit at the opposite end. Ron began piling food on his plate almost immediately, but Harry, though hungry, found that his mind was focused on Hermione again. He'd been able to momentarily forget about it when he'd been duelling with Professor Levithan, only because he had to concentrate on the duel and couldn't dwell on anything else. But now, now his thoughts were free to wander, and wander they did. Right back to Hermione. And Snape.

He felt like raging. He felt like screaming and overturning something. He felt like cursing Snape until the slimy git was unrecognisable, and was very tempted to follow through with the last one, without care for the potential consequences. But he wouldn't. Firstly, because he had no idea where to find Snape, and even if he did, he was being closely watched and couldn't leave the castle. And there were a few other things he needed to get done first, things that required research.

He stood without eating anything and began to make his way toward the library, not stopping or even acknowledging Ron when he called after him. However, he _was _aware that someone had followed him out. He turned his head to look at Professor Levithan questioningly.

"You're doing well, Potter, but you're still no match for Him," she said, as if this was a conversation that they had already been having. Harry simply looked at her and sighed, but didn't respond. There was a long pause and then, "Have you thought about what you'll do when you come face-to-face with Him again?" she asked. "Have you thought about the preparations you'll have in place, in case it looks like you won't defeat him?"

Harry gave her a contemplative stare, which quickly morphed into confusion. "Preparations?" he asked. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"Back-ups, enchantments you'll put in place…" she frowned at him. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it! I know you're Gryffindor, Potter, but _no one_ should be that foolishly brave. Its overconfidence and, quite frankly, stupidity. You're seventeen, Potter. He has had far more training than you."

"I'll figure something out, when I figure it out… Thank you, Professor," Harry muttered, then broke away from her and ran the rest of the way to the library once she was out of sight. What had she meant? What kind of preparations? There were only so many things he could do. But he wasn't planning on losing the fight. He'd take Voldemort down, no matter what. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. It was necessary that Voldemort die for good, not just as a temporary solution.

Perhaps Professor Levithan had had a good point. But what kind of preparations had she meant? Enchantments to have in place in case it looked as if he couldn't defeat him? Like what? Some sort of power well that he could draw from? He'd never heard of anything like that. Maybe he could ask her what she had meant, or he could ask Hermione…

Maybe research would make Hermione feel more like herself. If she knew that he needed her for something, maybe she'd come out of her timid shell and try to help him. She knew the library far better than Harry did, and he knew that if he was to find anything he'd _need_ her help. It could even be that she'd already know what he needed. Maybe some teacher had mentioned it in a class. It would be Hermione who would know something like that.

Sure that he was going to be able to help her _this_ time, Harry turned and left the library, headed for the Hospital Wing, not bothering to go by the Great Hall to find Ron. He needed to talk to Hermione on his own, to see what she thought about what Professor Levithan had suggested. He was truly stumped.

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_Author's Corner_

Yay! Another chapter done! And I don't really have anything to say other than that, except to apologise for the delay, as I always do.

Please review---

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Completed: Feb 22/06

Uploaded: Feb 23/06


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